


Block Letters

by PieceOfCait



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Flirting for The Cause, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Pining, Pre-Relationship, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-10
Updated: 2019-09-10
Packaged: 2020-10-13 23:28:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20590892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PieceOfCait/pseuds/PieceOfCait
Summary: Grantaire holds steady.He may have been gone on Enjolras for the better part of the last twelve months, but he’s spent decades perfecting the art of being obnoxious.He can’t drop the ball now.





	Block Letters

**Author's Note:**

> I posted this on [my tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/thepiecesofcait) a while ago and forgot about it until I was looking for something else and realised I should really keep it here with my other fics!
> 
> Initially written because I needed some serious Non-Angst after Barricade Day and stumbled across [this.](https://twitter.com/emeraldxmoon/status/1136196266012991489)

Grantaire fights the urge to gasp as cold hands slip under the hem of his shirt.**  
**

Enjolras smirks - Grantaire can’t _see_ it, but he hears it in the huff of breath that hits his neck as he’s nudged backwards until his calves are pressed against the bed.

“I need…” the blond murmurs, the faintest brush of lips against neck. “R, I _need_…”

Grantaire’s breath stutters in his chest while nimble fingers trace along the waistband of his jeans. “Anything,” his voice strains.

“I need…” Enjolras leans his head back to look up at Grantaire through obscenely thick lashes. His tongue makes a slow, deliberate sweep across his lower lip before it’s pulled between teeth with a coy smile. “…block letters.”

Hands hesitate in their gentle exploration of blond curls as Grantaire moves his gaze from lips to eyes. “Huh?”

Something thin and hard is pressed against his chest. He tears his focus away from the baffling blond to see a pen? No, _his_ pen. His pen that should still be in his front pocket.

“What? I- what?”

Enjolras’s grin is sly, though Grantaire notes with the smallest amount of vindication that his face is much pinker than its usual complexion. “Block letters, neat as you can.”

A handful of papers has appeared from nowhere and it takes Grantaire’s lust-mushed brain longer than it should to realise that he’s holding a membership form for the political party Enjolras has spent the last few months volunteering with.

He sinks down to sit on the bed, skimming the mission statement at the top of the first page. “Just to clarify, I fill this out, we pick up where we left off?”

“Mmhmm.” Enjolras’s ears manage to deepen their hue.

Grantaire raises a curious brow. “And if I don’t?”

“Well…” the blond chews his lip a moment before exaggerating a shrug, “it’ll be a much less _enthusiastic_ night of debauchery.”

“Oh god,” Grantaire can’t help the laugh bubbling up through his chest, “sad handjobs?”

Enjolras snorts, ducking his head until he’s managed to tone down the grin on his face. “The _saddest_.”

There’s a book on the bedside table, and Grantaire takes great delight in the way grey-blue eyes flit to the flash of hip his shirt reveals as he stretches for it.

“Better pop the kettle on, love,” Grantaire smirks as Enjolras snaps his gaze away, “we’ll need a boost for when I’m finished with these… _seven pages??_”

The slight crinkling sound of paper and a soft touch to the back of his neck are the only warnings he gets before warm lips press firm against his. A fuschia-toned Enjolras breaks away much too soon, though his hand stays buried in brown curls. “I, uh. Pre-filled as much as I could.”

It’s hard to string words together when his lips taste like the carrot sticks Enjolras had been munching throughout the meeting, so Grantaire buys some time by checking to see that yes, that is indeed his name and address already printed in the boxes. “You knew I’d agree?”

“I hoped you would,” Enjolras’s expression is impossibly soft, his thumb burning a trail as it traces the shell of Grantaire’s ear. “Call it wishful think-mmph!”

Wrapping his arms around the blond’s waist Grantaire manages to pull him closer while flipping their positions, leaving Enjolras lying on the bed as he breaks the kiss. “Sorry, jumped the gun. Please keep talking about how you’ve been imagining getting me back to your room?”

Enjolras laughs, it’s breathy and light and he’s beaming and beautiful and Grantaire wants nothing more than to kiss him again. “I believe you owe me a signature first.”

The blond grabs blindly for the dropped papers and, once located, flattens them face up against his chest, cocking a challenging eyebrow.

Grantaire swallows thickly. There’s a semi-frequent topic of debate among a few of the Amis: is Enjolras aware of his sex-appeal?

Judging from the way he bites his lip while slowly dragging long fingers down the paperwork to tap at the signature line sitting just left of his navel, he‘s aware. He’s well and truly aware.

Despite his every impulse begging him to _sign the damn form_, Grantaire holds steady. He may have been gone on Enjolras for the better part of the last twelve months, but he’s spent decades perfecting the art of being obnoxious, he can’t drop the ball now.

He stands, stretching in feigned nonchalance as he turns to meet the curious gaze tracking him. Grantaire smirks, spinning the pen twice in his fingers before slowly, slowly lowering himself to be kneeling on the floor between Enjolras’s feet.

“What-?” the blond’s voice cracks as he clambers into a more upright position, propped up on his elbows and staring wide-eyed down at Grantaire. One hand still clutches the paperwork to his torso. “Um, hi- I- What are you… doing down there?”

“Well,” Grantaire drawls, fighting hard to keep his cool as he leans forward, elbows hooking over Enjorlas’s thighs to rest against the mattress. The muscle pressing against the side of his chest twitches as Grantaire tugs the membership form a few inches lower. “I have this ridiculous friend who would happily subject me to a forty-minute lecture if I ever signed something without reading it first.”

“He sounds fun,” Enjolras’s head falls back and he squirms as Grantaire’s fingertips trail off the page, running lightly down his side, “you should maybe have dinner with him tomorrow night.”

Turning the page despite not having read a word, Grantaire feels a hopeless smile taking over his face. “I dunno…”

Enjolras looks sharply down at Grantaire, the confused twist of his brow hitting the brunet right between the ribs.

“I was hoping I could talk him into breakf-“

He isn’t sure how it happens, but one moment he’s playing a very enjoyable game of Chicken, and the next his paperwork has been frisbeed across the room and he’s being kissed to within an inch of his life by a lapful of flustered French boy. 

* * *

It isn’t until many hours later - wrapped in a dressing gown that is not his own and enjoying a coffee made by the sleepy blond pressed firmly against his side - that Grantaire gets to properly read the form. His flourished signature earns him a warm press of lips to the underside of his jaw and a reminder that breakfast was promised. It’s a unanimous vote for pancakes.


End file.
